Catching up to the intruder, a red-scaled Draconiac with a masculine build, but a comely, rounded face, I immediately ensnare the individual in one of my telekinetic grips. I know they can break it, and that I’ll be left with a massive headache, and take a few seconds to resume that particular grip, but I’ve got two grips now that I can alternate. I try to get an estimate of my foe, by taking in their features, but I’ve very little basis for comparison, save humans. The Draconiac wears ill-fitting leather armor that isn’t quite crude, but is leagues away from being on the level of something created by a master craftsman such as Berinon. The hood of their cloak had likely fallen back as they began to sprint away from the scene, beating a hasty retreat after casting their spell.
As their unflattering dark leather armor flattens tightly against their body from the squeezing pressure I exert, I can tell the Draconiac is attempting to perform a somatic mnemonic. Completely restrained, and unable to even begin casting their spell, the intruder cries out, “What!?”
I wonder what happens if I exert both telekinetic grips on the same thing, especially one that’s struggling. I really don’t want the answer to be that they both shatter though, so I’m not willing to test it out just yet. Actually, how about we set our tazers to stun, and put this individual down for the count? I dive into a moment between moments, stretching out the non, the absence of time, and I attempt to calculate the likely mass of the intruder, and safe voltage to strike them with. It’s exhausting, as usual, but I come up with what I believe is a fairly accurate estimate of the amount of charge to deliver across two separate strikes, to knock out the Draconiac. How long they’ll be incapacitated for is another question entirely, and one I’m not equipped to answer yet, as I have absolutely no basis for comparison about their physiology.
I amass an electrical charge in my right fist, and throw my whole body, and two separate telekinetic grips into a punch, one grip driving me forward, and one grip pulling my enemy to me. The pivot that starts at the ball of my lead foot, using my calf, thigh muscles, hips, and my underdeveloped abdominal core, and lateral dorsal muscles ends with a flexing of my deltoids, a twisting of my biceps and triceps, and probably the firmest punch I’ve ever thrown.
It would be really embarrassing to whiff after all that. Thankfully, I do no such thing. I do however manage to seize up and spasm slightly after connecting the punch due to my cored-out nerve pathways, and reliance on internal electrokinesis to operate. Also thankfully, the jolt that I deliver through the jaw of the intruder resounds with a loud crack, and their eyes roll back in their head momentarily, enough to reduce their struggling against my telekinetic grip. I deliver a softer punch to the intruder’s sternum, once I’ve built up another mass of electrical charge with my internal electrokinesis. With that, the intruder jerks, spasms, then goes limp within my grip. I sigh a bated breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Phew.
That seems anticlimactic, and almost too easy. What if they were hoping to be caught? Am I paranoid, or am I more powerful than the resistance they’d have been expecting to meet? I reach out with my mind, telepathically probing for Lady Kinzul. I can sense her emotions, and they’re turbulent, grief is among them, a harrowing loss. Hellspit. This was a ploy. Worse, multiple objectives could have been accomplished by the intruders, as Lady Kinzul now has her thoughts occupied by grief, loss, sadness, quite possibly slowing her analysis of other potential dangers.
I call out to the leader of the Order, “Lady Kinzul, I’ve captured the intruder, but it was too easy. It’s almost like they wanted to get caught. It makes me all the more certain this was a distraction, and worse, that they might have a trick up their sleeve in the event of being captured.”
Lady Kinzul’s response fills me with dread from the anger lacing her telepathic tones, “Bring the vile wretch to the lowest levels. It seems our war has begun in earnest, and our enemies have delivered a crippling blow at the outset.”
My heart catches in my throat. Moments after I joined the Order, a successful attack took a valuable, quite possibly beloved ally from Kinzul. Some asset from our side has left the board entirely. I’m almost certain, based on the torrent of emotions swirling within Lady Kinzul, that a life has been taken. Worse, in her grief, she may be overlooking what else that may have been taken such as objects, or knowledge.
I need to focus, to stay calm. I need to prioritize. The telepathic bonds amongst Kinzul’s most trusted individuals could have saved the life that was lost today, but there was absolutely no way for me to have gotten to everyone before it had happened. Huff. Deep breaths. Surf along down the passageways. It’s slightly amusing that Kinzul simply expects, or trusts me to be able to navigate her domain, without so much as a map, or tour. It’s also slightly amusing that the passageways alternate between absolutely massive tunnels, and tunnels that are much more human-sized. This is likely so that enemy dragons have to spend time switching forms, and perhaps get bottlenecked in the smaller tunnels, where Kinzul and her allies could be awaiting on the far side to unleash breath weapons. That’s the intuitive feeling I get from my various senses at least.
Breathe Reggie. Breathe air, breathe. Down the tunnels and passageways we go. The ever-present glowlichen would be lovely, in another setting. As is, it serves to illuminate in such a way that captures the rough-hewn nature of the structures I traverse. My breath catches in my throat as I pass the tunnel that would lead to the den, where my inner circle lay vulnerable, unconscious. My thermal senses indicate that they might be shifting though, possibly rousing, with the knockout of the spellcaster. Phew, okay. I know my Shellcracker Adventuring Party can take care of themselves.
Y’know, I didn’t really give this person a chance to explain themselves. They might not even be an intruder. That would be incredibly embarrassing. Still, they’re a spellcaster, and looked to have been fleeing, during a time when at least two unfortunate things were occurring. The attempt to put to sleep many of us, and the death of whomever Lady Kinzul is currently grieving being the two that I’m certain of.
Altogether too soon, my telekinetic grip on the intruder shatters, and I’m left rolling through the air towards the cold stone ground of the tunnel as I reach out my secondary grip to restrain them. They shatter my second grip, sending a shearing pain through my brain before I can re-establish the first. Worse, they weave offensive spells together in an incredibly rapid fashion now that they’re free to utilize their mnemonic.
My aura vision catches a translucent, ethereal pink tendril whipping, lashing out and striking my cranium several times, and I could vomit from the intensity of the pain. Ow, psychic brainlash. The intruder also manages to strike me, center of mass, with bolts of necrotic energy that it forms one after another after another. I don’t have significant resistances built up to these energy types from Can’Z’aas. My head swims as the pain overtakes me. I nearly pass out before being able to put up even a token resistance.
I reach out with my mind, begging my luck that my inner circle can hear me, and reach me in time. I can only manage a single word, “Capture.”
The strain of sending a psychic message, while under psionic assault is almost too much for me. I black out for the briefest of instants, but as soon as I rouse, I’ve enough of my wits about me to reestablish my telekinetic grips, coiling one about the intruder. It buys me a few precious seconds of reprieve to collect the rest of my wits. I loose unwelcome vomit from the whiplash of the sudden lack of the intense pain that had been overtaking me, embarrassing as that may be.
I sink to my knees, and pant in exhaustion, tears streaming down my cheeks. Hm, no, blood. Eyes, ears, and nose. Cranial internal hemorrhaging from the psionic assault I imagine. Things could get ugly for me if the intruder manages to snap my telekinetic grip again, but I can’t get the strength to will my muscles to move at all. Huff, phew, can barely breathe. Ow! Another shearing pain through my skull as the intruder breaks free of yet another telekinetic grip, and I barely manage to snag them with a fourth, as they stand with their hands on their knees, panting from the exertion fighting through my telekinesis repeatedly.
The intruder breaks free of my mental grasp one last time, and the intense agony within my brain is too much for me. I notice them chanting a spell, and they seem to suddenly blink out of existence, only to reappear much further away up the hallway. I manage a grin as I slump forward, passing out as my face meets the cold stone floor. My inner circle is arriving, Lu, Lil, Lucky and Te to the rescue, led by Lucky, so they’d know where to go by my scent. My son is the reason that they knew where to go, and I couldn’t be more proud.
The uncharismatic, uncaring woman clucks her tongue in disappointment as she literally looks down her nose at me slumped in a chair opposite her across her desk. She comments on my lowly state, “Tsk tsk. I must say, I expected more from a class three.”
Unable to help myself, due to my training, I ask, “May I speak in my defense sir?”
Birdbeak McGee here decides to insult me further, “No you may not, and I know you’ve sir drilled into your thick skull, but you will address me as ma’am.”
I grit my teeth to respond, “Yes ma’am.”
Her honorable malarkey gob continues gabbing, “The disciplinary committee will pass judgment soon enough. Honestly, opening your ship to the vacuum of space after an illegal reactivation of proprietary tech. I find it humorous that you set yourself on fire, perhaps in some poetic justice, they shall pick such a suitable punishment for you. A member of our military—.”
Since it’s the reactivation that’s getting me in trouble, I grump as I correct, “Ex-member.”
The death-glare I receive tells me that I’m only digging myself a deeper grave, but I could barely care less at this point. I lost most of my team, my crew, good friends that day. I didn’t realize they’d be able to track the reactivation of my psi-blade, plasma blade sidearm. Me being a Psi-E is what got the rest of my crew out of that mess alive. Me being a Psi-E hardly matters without the special tech in the plastimetal sidearms. Without them, the fact that I have some sort of energy portal in my brain doesn’t matter in the slightest. I’m just a normal person. Fit, from military training, sure, but that’s hardly noteworthy, especially against creeps like the Nedzeds, those ungodly morphs, the Galconners, most any space pirate, hell, most any other spacefaring species.
I try not to roll my eyes as I sigh, disheartened by the whole mess. I understand why I’m in trouble. It’s pretty much exactly what they feared could happen after decommissioning G-Con 3 psi-ops. Any one of us still alive, with access to our tech, could become a planetary-scale threat, given enough time. The idea doesn’t interest me in the slightest, but for the merest risk, I’m going to face the harshest punishment, to set an example.
What’s worse? I’d do it all again, in a heartbeat. To save those few lives left in my crew? Joshua lived for a while after at least, but losing his leg was rough on him, he died while getting treatment. Cap, well, she was banged up but good, but she toughed it out, came to the rescue as I was spacing the suckers. Morris, Ramirez, and Kentucky were all already dead when I spaced the cargo bay. Still, it feels awful having left their bodies to rot out in the vac. Adelaide, Jones, and Bishop were all okay. Youngest of the crew, and you wouldn’t believe it, asleep in their quarters for most of the whole shebang. Yeah, any punishment’s fine, as long as they’re safe. They’re good kids, and Cap is the best of us. Maybe I’ll get one of those scenes from the old Earth cinema, “Hanged by the neck until dead.”
Prissy mcwhatsit here wears a surprised expression on her face as she receives a communique. Here it is, here comes my punishment. I’ll accept whatever it is. She starts out, “Apparently, G-Con Three is being reinstated, and your retirement is being revoked. You will have committed no crime, since it will not have been a decommissioned piece of equipment, and you’ll be leading the newest batch of Psi-Es.”
I let the words hang heavy in the air. The worst possible punishment. They got me. Hell, I’d rather they tortured me and sent me to die in some pit. There’s new Psi-Es? Last I heard, humanity stopped producing any, was some sort of freak batch in the gene pool where a generation had the potential. Turns out, we’re longer lived than most, maybe twice as long, but can’t have kids. That means it has to have skipped a generation or two, and they’re saddling me with kids. Kids with psionic energy, to be trained as dogs of the military.
I shoulda let myself die to the morphs.